


An Instant

by chanderson



Series: Young, Scrappy, and Hungry [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Car Accidents, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: George has come to realize that life can change in an instant. All it takes is the squeeze of a trigger, a sudden gust of wind, or the screech of a tire.Blink and it's over. Then everything you thought you knew is gone.





	1. 1,126 km/hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY Y'ALL. Angst is back.

“Are you excited for tea with the queen tomorrow?” Alex teases, his voice slightly garbled from the video chat they currently have set up.   
George shrugs and starts to change out of his suit, standing in front of the bed where his laptop is resting. “Honestly? I don’t even like tea. I’d rather skip the tea and photo op.” 

Alex rolls his eyes. “I wish I could be there. _I’d_ appreciate tea with the Queen of England.”

“I know sweetheart.” George pulls a t shirt on over his head and carefully hangs his suit up. “I’m really sorry you’re sick. Are you feeling any better?” 

George climbs into the bed and sets the laptop down on his chest. He momentarily adjusts his pillows and the screen so Alex can see him. 

“Yeah kind of,” Alex says hesitantly. George narrows his eyes and squints at the screen. Even though the picture is slightly distorted, George can still see how pale and sick Alex looks. It sends a wave of anxiety crashing through him and he has to take a calming breath. 

_Alex is fine_. 

He’s currently on Air Force One headed for England; he can’t have a meltdown over his boyfriend. Every time Alex gets sick, George turns into a nervous wreck. When he started feeling sick yesterday, complaining of a bad stomachache and nausea, George was ready to cancel his trip to England and stay with Alex. Lafayette promptly told George to get his shit together and stop worrying. 

George sighs and nervously chews on his lips. “Your stomach still hurting?” 

“Yeah. It’s feeling a little better though. I’m just tired.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the doctor?” 

“Yes George. I’m sure,” Alex sighs.

“Okay, okay,” George says softly, taking a deep breath. “But if you start to feel worse, you can—”

“Call Dr. Rush,” Alex finishes. “George, honey, you’ve reminded me about a hundred times. I think I can handle it.”

“Alex,” George pleads. “I’m being serious. This isn’t funny. If the pain gets worse you need to call Dr. Rush.”

“You know I have my own doctor, right?” 

“Well Dr. Rush is better. Just—” George pinches the bridge of his nose and takes another deep breath. “Can you promise me you’ll call him? For me?”

Alex’s face softens and he nods. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call Dr. Rush as soon as anything starts to feel worse. Now you need to sleep. You can’t be all jet lagged and cranky when you meet the Queen of England.”

George smiles and tries to stifle a yawn. “Yeah alright. You should be resting too, okay? Just sleep and relax. I’m leaving right after my visit ends so I’ll be home in like, I guess two-ish days. Then you can come back to the Residence and I’ll take good care of you.”

“Sounds good baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

George curls up in his bed, the quiet humming of the engine barely perceptible in the Presidential Suite. 

After lying there staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, George hauls himself out of bed, takes an Ambien, and promptly passes out asleep. 

\---

George carefully holds the small teacup in his hand, focusing on not spilling any onto the tiny saucer underneath it. He supposes that’s what it’s there for, but he would still feel kind of like a failure if he ended up spilling any. 

They’re standing around in one of the most ornately decorated rooms he’s ever been in, making polite small talk. Right now he’s talking to Prince William, trading a few military stories back and forth. The prince is enthusiastically detailing a rescue mission he went on as a helicopter pilot for the Royal Air Force, and George is genuinely interested and the prince is an engaging story teller, but his mind is elsewhere and he’s finding it hard to concentrate. 

George sent Alex a quick text right after they landed this morning, but he hasn’t responded yet. It’s almost 10 in the morning at home by now, and Alex is almost always up by now. Even when he’s sick, Alex despises sleeping in. He should have responded by now, and the fact that he hasn’t is sending George’s anxiety through the roof. But right now George has to be president, so he attempts to push it all to the back of his mind and pretends to enjoy himself. 

And so far he’s done a pretty good job. He even managed to shove a fancy pastry down his throat during his conversation with the queen. Although, if his anxiety gets any worse than it already is, he’s afraid the queen’s fancy pastry might be ending up in the toilet. 

George is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost walks smack dab into the heir to the British Throne who is most likely going to be the next King of England. Prince Charles laughs and puts a steadying hand on George’s shoulder. 

“Bit distracted are we?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with amusement. George’s face is burning and he starts to stammer out some awkward apology when the prince just clucks his tongue and pats George’s arm. “It’s quite alright, Mr. President. No need to apologize. Although, it looks like you’ve spilled some of your tea. Would you like a new one?”

Well shit. 

George chuckles nervously and shakes his head. “No, no. I’m fine. Sorry about that, Your Royal Highness. My one goal was to not spill my tea, so there goes that,” he says ruefully. The prince laughs.

“It’s a bit bizarre isn’t it?” he asks, gesturing to the room. George nods, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“It really is. I thought that, after being president, nothing would really surprise or shock me anymore, but this sure is something.” 

The prince hums in agreement. “Growing up here desensitizes you to it, as I’m sure you were desensitized to D.C. before you got there. Your father was the first black Senator of Virginia, was he not?”

George schools his expression into a careful neutral and sets his tea down on the side table beside him. His father isn’t exactly his favorite topic of conversation. 

“He was,” George says, nodding. 

“Quite impressive. I remember thinking that he would run for president. I’m sorry for his passing.” 

“Thank you. It was a long time ago, but he was a good man,” George lies straight through his teeth. The words taste like acid on his tongue. He doesn’t inform the prince that men who like to drink a little too much, bang their secretaries, and slap their children around don’t get to be president. 

“Indeed. Is he the reason you decided to run for president?”

George barely holds back the harsh, barking laugh that bubbles up in his chest. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d say my wife’s passing had more to do with it. I wanted to do something that would make her proud.” 

Now they’ve had to venture into George’s second least favorite topic of conversation: His dead wife.

“Ah, right. I’m sorry for that loss as well,” the prince says a little awkwardly. 

George is about to attempt to steer the conversation away to something a little lighter when a warm hand settles on his shoulder. 

“Mr. President,” Lafayette whispers, his warm breath tickling George’s ear. “There’s a situation that requires your attention.”

George keeps his expression blank and nods. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I need to go attend to something. It was nice meeting you,” George says as he quickly shakes Prince Charles’ hand. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. President.” 

George smiles briefly before Lafayette tugs on his arm and they start to quickly walk out of the room. “What’s going on?” George whispers, trying to breathe through the icy anxiety rising like bile in his throat. 

“Hold on. I’ll tell you when we’re in private.” 

George nods and rubs his chest as his heart rate picks up speed. 

They walk quickly, their shoes echoing in the long hallway. Lafayette’s grip on his arm is tight enough to hurt, and George focuses in on that pain, letting it ground him a little. 

Lafayette comes to an abrupt halt in front of an inconspicuous looking door and shoves George inside. It’s a utility closet that reeks of chemicals and cleaning supplies. George is startled to see Tallmadge waiting for them, the single light in the ceiling throwing shadows across his grim face. 

“What’s going on?” George asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray how anxious he’s feeling. If there’s some sort of domestic crisis going on, he’s going to need to get his shit together. 

“George,” Lafayette says gently. “I need you to stay calm okay? Can you do that for me?”

George feels dizzy as another bolt of anxiety shoots through his chest. Lafayette doesn’t call him George when they’re talking about work. 

“I think so,” George breathes. Lafayette frowns and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Are you sure? Because you cannot start freaking out in Buckingham Palace. I wanted to wait to tell you, but Tallmadge insisted we tell you now. I need you to _stay calm_.” 

“Gilbert, please,” George practically begs. “What’s wrong?” 

“Alex was in an accident,” Lafayette says slowly, increasing his grip on George’s shoulder as he says it. George’s entire body immediately tenses up and the air leaves his lungs in an audible whoosh like he was just sucker-punched in the stomach. He stumbles back and leans against the door so he won’t fall over. 

“What’s wrong with him?” George asks, his voice far away. 

“We don’t know yet. Angelica just got to the hospital.” 

“And I made him stay home because he was sick.” George laughs sarcastically. He closes his eyes against a wave of dizziness and laughs again, the sound bordering on hysterical. “First Martha, now Alex. Who’s next? You, Gil?” 

“George,” Lafayette says firmly. “You need to stay calm. I told you that you absolutely have to stay calm. We can’t drag you stumbling and sobbing through Buckingham Palace.”

George shakes his head and rubs his face. “Can just I sit down for a second? I need to sit down before I do anything else.” 

“Of course. Take your time, okay? We’re not leaving this room until you’re calm enough to leave and project some semblance of normalcy.”

George slides down to sit on the ground and rests his head against his knees. “I need to get home. I have to get home to him. I can’t—he can’t die without me there,” George whispers through gritted teeth.

“First, try not to jump to conclusions, brother. He might end up being perfectly fine. We don’t even know if he has any injuries yet. Second, Tallmadge and I already have it under control. You’ve just suddenly come down with something and aren’t feeling well, so we need to push our departure time up a couple of hours and get you home. Sound good?” 

“Yeah,” George says, his voice ragged. He takes a deep breath and looks up blearily. Lafayette affectionally pats George’s head. 

“Do you think you can manage to make it to the motorcade? All you have to do is walk, and I’ll hold onto you to help you if you’re dizzy. You just have to maintain a little composure. Can you do that for me?”

George nods, his throat tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak; he’s barely holding back a sob as is. 

Lafayette reaches down and helps him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Here, put your arm around my shoulders, okay?” George wordlessly does as he’s told, barely registering what’s happening. 

They leave the small closet and George winces in the bright light of the hallway. As they walk, Lafayette whispers encouragingly, reminding George to keep walking and reassuring him that everything’s going to be okay. 

There’s a flurry of activity all around George, people walking up and talking to them and directing them down winding hallways. He barely realizes that it’s happening to him; it feels like he’s watching it from outside of his body, as if he’s just sitting down to enjoy a movie about a man whose life is about to be ruined all over again. 

George is the most powerful man in the world yet he is completely powerless in this moment. 

Lafayette is a constant presence at his side, but George doesn’t register anything that he says. It’s almost like Lafayette is speaking his native French. It’s all gibberish and George’s ears feel blocked, stuffed with cotton. 

The scenery around him changes—the palace, the motorcade, the tarmac—until he’s finally deposited on his bed in the Presidential Suite on Air Force One. 

Then Lafayette is kneeling in front of George, tugging his shoes off, untying his tie, slipping his jacket off of his shoulders. Lafayette’s hands are gentle when he pulls George’s dress shirt out of his pants and carefully unbuttons it, leaving George shivering in his undershirt. The pants are the last to go, and George dazedly stands so Lafayette can unbutton them and push them down. Hehelps George step out of them and lowers him back to a sitting position. 

“George?” He taps George’s cheek and George sluggishly nods. 

“Yeah?” He barely recognizes his own voice. 

“You’re shivering; are you cold?”

He feels like he’s on fire, burning from the inside out. 

“No.” George rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Is Alexander dead?” 

Lafayette shakes his head quickly and puts a Xanax in George’s hand. “Alex is in the emergency room, but they took him for some tests. An MRI or a CT scan… Maybe both? Angelica was talking really fast and then said she had to go.”

George gets the water bottle sitting beside his bed and swallows the pill. The water sloshes uncomfortably in his stomach. “Did she at least get to see him? Did he look really hurt?”

Lafayette bites his lip and shakes his head. “No. She didn’t get to see him.”

“I can’t believe this is happening to me again,” George says, swallowing. 

“You don’t know that he’s going to die. We still don’t know his injuries,” Lafayette reminds him. 

“But you don’t know that he isn’t,” George says angrily. “He could already be fucking dead for all I know.” George cradles his head in his hands and moans softly. 

“I’m so sorry, George.” Lafayette hesitantly rubs his back. “You know it’s okay if you need to cry. No one’s going to come in here.” 

“I’m sick and tired of crying over people,” George snaps. “I feel like I’ve spent half my life mourning people. When does it end?”

Lafayette takes a deep breath. “Try to calm down, George. Getting angry isn’t going to help you feel better.”

George clenches his fists and sucks in a sharp breath. “How long until we get home?” 

“We’re going as fast as we can. It’s going to take around 5 hours.” 

George shakes his head, images of Alex’s body broken and bleeding flashing through his head. “Do we know what happened? What kind of accident was it?”

“He was in an Uber and some drunk driver hit them. That’s all Angelica knows.”

“What the fuck was he doing out? He was sick,” George groans. “I should’ve stayed home. Then none of this would’ve fucking happened.”

“George, you had no idea that this was going to happen. This isn’t your fault. Alex didn’t feel well; it was smart to leave him at home.”

George shakes his head. “Can I talk to Angelica?” He hates how shaky and weak he sounds. 

“I think you should try to rest. I’ll make sure to keep you updated, okay? But I really think you need to at least try to sleep.”

“I don’t think I could sleep.” 

“Try, okay? I’ll come get you if Angelica has any news.” Lafayette flips the light off and gives George one last pitying look. “I love you, brother.” He shuts the door behind him, and George heaves a sigh and lays down, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I can’t seem to keep him safe, can I?” he asks softly. “Of course, I couldn’t keep you safe either.” He laughs harshly and rubs his eyes. “Couldn’t even keep Lawrence safe. I’ve got a really great track record, huh?” 

George shudders and rolls onto his side. “I was planning on asking him if he wanted to get a dog with me,” he whispers. “It’s about time that I get a White House pet, and I thought Alex would enjoy helping me pick him out. It would be like our little secret, you know? He would be our dog together. He could sleep in the bed with us and we could play with him outside. I was going to surprise Alex when I got home and ask him. I wanted physical, living proof of my commitment to him.” George’s breath hitches and a few tears race themselves down his cheeks. 

He came so close to losing Alex already, but at least Alex was still alive then. George could watch him and hear his voice. If Alex is dead, George will never hear his voice again, and Alex’s voice is one of George’s favorite sounds. George has always loved the way Alex’s accent slips out when he gets angry or talks too fast, and he can’t imagine not hearing that again. 

“Maybe I don’t deserve him,” George whispers. “Maybe that’s why I keep losing him? I mean, I’m not exactly the best person. You know that better than anyone, Martha. I’ve got a short temper; I’m pretty fucking selfish; I’m whiney. Jesus, the list goes on.”

George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get himself used to seeing Alex only in memory. 

He has a sinking feeling that Alex’s death will be even harder than Martha’s. This time, he won’t get to take time to mourn. To the rest of the world, Alex is just a senior advisor—a young upstart with an ambiguous, immigrant background and big ideas, the shining example of the so-called American Dream. 

George tries to picture his life without Alex and it makes him feel sick. He still has so many things that he wants to share with Alex. He was going to teach him to ride horses so they could ride together at Mt. Vernon; he was planning on taking him somewhere beautiful that he would appreciate like Rome or Iraq—places where entire civilizations were born on the backs of men just like them; and he wanted to take Alex to the ocean because he knows that Alex misses the taste of salt in the air and sand under his feet. 

Some days, George imagines what it would be like if they were two regular, mundane people who happened to meet and fall in love. Maybe they would meet somewhere cliché like a coffee shop or the grocery store. Or maybe they would meet on one of those stupid dating apps. They could get married, buy a simple house, and adopt beautiful children. Alex doesn’t know it, but he would be an amazing father. 

But George has never been a regular, mundane person, and neither has Alex. That’s not the life they’re meant to live. They live too fast and passionately to be regular people. George has always wanted to change the world, and that’s not something a regular man with a regular life can do. 

So here George is, hurtling through the air at 1,126 kilometers an hour, racing the clock to reach the man he loves, the man whose life now hangs in the balance. 

George has come to realize that life can change in an instant. All it takes is the squeeze of a trigger, a sudden gust of wind, or the screech of a tire. 

Blink and it’s over.  Then everything you thought you knew is gone. 

The world is constantly changing; it’s up to you to keep up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was really hard to write?? but I'm low key running out of time before my summer gets busy af so I'm trying to get this story out asap! I'm super sorry if it SUCKS... i honestly think it does BUT still hope y'all like it. 
> 
> I'm very sorry b/c the use of passive voice is real and the difference between lay and lie is just totally fucked. sorry that i'm so lazy w/ my grammar in my fics lmao
> 
> Air Force One really does have the ability to fly at a top speed of 1,126 km/hr (over 600 mph!)
> 
> I'm so sorry for the angst (but not really)


	2. The Bird of Paradise Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY.

“Mr. President,” Angelica says as soon as George is ushered into the private waiting room they’ve secured for them. “It’s so good to see you. I’m so sorry, Sir.” 

George isn’t as close to Angelica as he is to Lafayette, but he still admires her tenacity and brilliance, and she’s come to be a sort of rock for him. She has an unyielding strength that she can communicate through the purse of her lips or a reassuring half smile. 

He knows that it’s bad when he sees her red rimmed eyes and slightly disheveled clothes. 

“Oh Angelica,” he says, pulling her into a hug. It’s a little stiff at first, but then Angelica brings her arms up to grip George’s broad shoulders and buries her face into his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. President.” Her breath hitches and George has to pull out of the hug so he can sit down as he’s hit with a nauseating wave of dizziness. 

“Is he—did he…”

“No, but I think it’s bad. He’s been in surgery for hours now. Of course, They’re not exactly telling me anything,” Angelica says ruefully. She sits down next to him and hesitates before squeezing his knee. “Where’s Lafayette?”

“He had to go back to the White House.” George props his arms up on his thighs and holds his head in his hands. “Do you think they’ll tell me anything? I’m the leader of the free world, you think that would give me some leverage.”

Angelica huffs a short laugh and nods. “You would think so.”

George sighs and looks up to study the waiting room. It’s just like any generic waiting room that you could find in any hospital anywhere on Earth. It has the same boring, clipart-esque paintings of landscapes, flowers, and abstract swirls. They all incorporate “calming” colors, as if soft blues and dusty pinks are going to help people feel better about the fact that their loved ones are dying. 

The wall is painted a plain, neutral beige—another “calming” color—and the carpet is a light gray with some ugly, repeated swirly design. Fake succulents adorn the various tables, and they even have a taller fake plant nestled into one of the corners. 

The chairs are uncomfortable, made of that rough fabric that leaves imprints on your skin if you press against it for to long. They snake around the room in an alternating color pattern—pale blue, gray, beige; pale blue, gray, beige—that George loathes for some reason.

It looks like any waiting room in any hospital, and it only serves to heighten George’s sick sense of déjà-vu. He’s been here before. 

He spent countless hours in waiting rooms just like this one waiting for news about Martha’s various surgeries. Lafayette would come sit with him and try to distract him with work, bringing him thick stacks of legislation to look at or little games like crossword puzzles that would keep him occupied. Sometimes he brought Geo and George would sit in the floor with him and play with toy trucks or, because the Lafayettes hated gender stereotypes, the occasional Barbie Doll. 

When Lawrence got sick, George spent torturous hours cooped up in waiting rooms with his mother. His father was always too busy to stop by. 

And now George is here. It’s a logical procession really. So far, everyone George ever truly loved has died on him. Next is Alex. Then, if the pattern stays consistent, Gilbert. 

It’s like he has the opposite of a green thumb. A black thumb would be more fitting. Everything he touches wilts and dies, leaving his garden barren and empty. Lawrence was his gladiolus, Martha his primrose, and Alex his bird of paradise. An unlikely trio made coherent because they were once his; they all took root in his garden. Only now the gladioluses and the primroses are gone, and George watches helplessly as the bird of paradises wilt in the shade of his towering shadow. 

\---

After an hour of coexisting in somewhat tense silence, Angelica hunched over her phone and George stretched out on the floor with his sweatshirt balled up behind his head like a pillow, Angelica heaves a sigh and agitatedly sets her phone down. “Do you want to play a game, Sir?” she asks, turning to root around in her massive purse. 

George quirks an eyebrow and rolls onto his stomach so he can prop himself up on his elbows. “A game?”

Angelica nods and procures a deck of cards from the depths of her purse. George can’t help but be a little impressed by her apparent preparedness for any situation. She holds up the deck of cards and shrugs. “I can’t stand to sit here staring at the same New York Times article for another second.”

“It’s not like we have anything better to do,” George mutters. “Apparently being the most powerful man on earth gets you absolutely no brownie points in this hospital.” Again he’s struck by the impossible dichotomy of his life; he has both immense power and absolutely no power at all. 

“Exactly,” Angelica says as she joins him on the floor. “What should we play?” 

“Lets do something simple. War?” 

“A game of war versus the Commander-in-Chief? I’d say the deck may be stacked against me, Sir,” Angelica teases. She shuffles the cards and makes quick work of dealing them. 

“I’m confident you can hold your own,” George murmurs as they start to flip their cards over. At first they sit in silence, neither of them truly invested, but the longer they go, the more heated it gets and they both start to snicker. By the second game, they’re practically shouting. At one point, George even pumps his fists and whoops, which sends Angelica into a fit of laughter so hard that she cries. 

They’re so wrapped up in their game that they don’t hear the surgeon walk up behind them and clear his throat. 

George is in mid-flip when the surgeon addresses them.

“Mr. President? Ms. Schuyler?”

George immediately straightens his back and whips around to stare at the man, unsure if he’s actually real. Angelica is the first to recover from the shock of actually seeing a real person and she smiles hesitantly.

“Hello, Doctor,” she says politely. George hastily gathers the cards up and stands. 

“Sorry,” George breathes, trying to keep his voice level. He focuses on looking at the surgeon, studying the pattern on his scrub cap so he doesn’t have to look into his grim eyes. 

“It’s quite alright. I’m Dr. Jonathan Potts, the head trauma surgeon. Mr. Hamilton is out of surgery, but he is going to need to go back in as soon as he’s strong enough. He suffered a blunt force trauma to the head as well as some damage to his internal organs. The head injury caused his brain to swell. We had to release the pressure—”

George’s stomach twists with a bolt of anxiety and everything feels fuzzy. He doesn’t hear what the doctor is saying, just sees his mouth moving. Angelica is talking and the doctor is giving George an odd look, but he can’t find it in himself to care. His heart is hammering in his chest, tattooing his ribs with an imprint of the twisting valves furiously pumping his blood. His skin is too tight and his stomach churns as he’s hit with a flash of heat. 

His brain is suddenly screaming at him to leave, to get away from here. His sympathetic nervous system is dumping epinephrine and norepinephrine into his body, flooding his system. Fight or flight has kicked in, and his body is choosing flight. 

So he leaves. The doctor is mid-sentence, and George watches his brow furrow as George turns on his heel and starts to walk down a hallway. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees his Secret Service agents straighten up and slink down the hallway, hawkishly watching him. They cleared this particular area of the hospital, but they have to follow him anyway. 

George stumbles to a halt when he finds a bathroom and he shoves the door open. It smells like bleach and urine, which is a little unprofessional, George numbly thinks as he walks over to the sink. 

He looks at himself in the mirror and cringes. He has a wild, almost crazed look in his eyes and his face is flushed, giving him a feverish pallor. The faucet squeaks as he shakily turns it on and splashes some cold water on his face. 

George shudders and his stomach lurches, but he tries to just breathe through it. 

_Alexander is alive; Alexander is alive; Alexander is alive_. 

He tries to focus on that simple fact. There’s still hope. 

_But he might still die. They have to preform another surgery, remember? He could be dying right now for all you know._

George hurries into the first stall and throws up until there’s nothing left inside of him. 

And that’s how Angelica eventually finds him, sitting on the disgusting tiled floor of the dingy bathroom with his head hanging between his knees in an attempt to stave off the anxious nausea wreaking havoc on his system.

She silently sits down beside him and hands him a cold bottle of water. He twists the cap off and takes a few sips, nodding in thanks. 

They sit there silently. The only sound is the slight buzzing of the fluorescent light and the torturous dripping of one of the faucets. 

“You can go see him if you want,” Angelica finally says softly. 

“How does he look?”

Angelica hesitates and George’s breath hitches. “Is it really that bad?” he whispers. 

“It’s not great.” 

George laughs harshly and holds the cool water bottle against his forehead. He’s drenched in sweat. 

“Okay. Take me to him. I… I need to see him. Even if it’s bad.” George shakily manages to stand, blinking against the black dots that swim in front of his vision. 

“Do you need to sit back down, Sir?” Angelica asks as she reaches out to put a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“No, no. I’m okay.” George takes a deep breath. “And you don’t have to call me Sir, Angelica. At least not right now.”

“What would you prefer?” she asks hesitantly. 

They start to walk down the hallway and George tries to ignore the way the walls seem to be closing in on him. He heaves a sigh. “You can call me George if you want. In private.” 

“If you want, S—George,” she says a little awkwardly as if she’s testing out the way the word feels on her tongue. 

George nods and shoves his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets. When they get to Alexander’s room, he almost blacks out. Angelica quickly wraps her arms around his waist as he sways and blindly reaches out to grip the doorframe so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

“Oh God,” he moans. “Alex.” He pulls out of Angelica’s arms and collapses down in the chair by Alex’s bed. 

His head is wrapped in a layer of gauze and there’s a tangle of wires and tubes snaking around him. A tube is taped into his mouth and the machine makes a mechanic, eery whooshing sound as it pushes air in and out of Alex's lungs. There are several bruises and cuts marring his face. Thankfully, the rest of his body is covered by a blanket and hospital gown so George doesn’t have to see the rest of his injuries. 

George reaches for Alex’s hand but stops, his hand suspended in midair. “Where are his personal items?” he croaks, turning to look at Angelica. She frowns and walks into the room. 

“I think they’re in here.” She opens a drawer in the small table beside Alex’s bed and pulls out a baggy.

“I need to see that,” George says frantically. He stands up and reaches across Alex to take it. He shakily opens it up and starts to root around, shoving Alex’s phone and wallet out of the way. He’s starting to breath unevenly and panic is rising in his chest, but then his fingers brush the smooth metal of Alex’s ring and he deflates. “Oh thank God,” he breathes. 

He sits back down and very carefully takes Alex’s ring out of the bag. It looks so small in the center of George’s palm and he squeezes it in his fist, feeling it dig into his skin. He sucks in a ragged, pained breath and shakily pulls the ever present chain he keeps tucked into his shirt off his neck. Martha’s wedding band shines in the low light of the room. 

George starts trying to unclasp it but his hands are shaking too badly and his fingers keep fumbling over the tiny locking mechanism. He groans in frustration and tears start to press at the backs of his eyes. 

Then Angelica’s hands are on his own, stilling his agitated movements. 

“I’ve got it,” she says softly. Her hands are impressively steady as she unclasps the necklace and holds it open for him. 

He very carefully drops Alex’s ring onto the chain and watches it slide down to settle against Martha’s with a soft ping. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

“You’re welcome, George.” 

He slips the chain back over his neck and reaches up to play with the rings, listening to them jingle. He pulls the collar of his t shirt down and drops the chain back under his shirt. The rings rest against his sternum and he absently reaches up to rub the slight protrusion. 

“I’ll keep this safe for you, okay?” George whispers as he picks up Alex’s hand and rubs his ring finger. “Then, when you wake up, I’ll give it back to you.”

Angelica squeezes George’s shoulder. “I’ll be right outside,” she whispers. 

George absently nods. When the door clicks closed, he rests his head on the edge of the bed and sucks in a harsh breath. “You can’t die, okay? You can’t die on me, Alex. _Please_ don’t die. We still have so much to do together.” George gently rubs Alex’s knuckles with his thumb. “As soon as you’re better, I’m taking you on a trip. It’ll be my vacation. All presidents take vacations, you know? And we’ll go wherever you want. Well, anywhere that doesn’t require a boat. I get sea sick really easily… But, I mean, if you _really_ wanted to go somewhere on a boat, I could do it. It might suck, but I could tough it out if that’s what you wanted to do.” 

George’s breath hitches and he sobs. He didn’t even realize he was crying. He sniffs and angrily rubs his eyes. 

“Then,” he says thickly, his throat and chest tight. “Then we’ll come home and pick out a dog together. We’ll get to pick him out and name him and he’ll be our dog that we can take care of together. He can sleep in the bed with us and we’ll play with him outside. We could take him back to Mt. Vernon for a weekend and let him run around in the big fields. It’ll be so nice. Doesn’t that sound nice?” 

George sobs again and shakes his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Alexander.” 

Alex’s full name sounds odd coming out of his mouth. Alex made it very clear that it was Alex and nothing else, but George has always loved his full name. Sometimes, he whispers it into Alex’s hair at night, murmuring it like it’s a prayer, something holy to be worshipped. 

He cautiously runs his fingers up and down Alex’s arms, aware of his tendency to destroy anything he touches. As the sun sets on his garden and his shadow grows longer, his bird of paradises’ vibrant colors continue to fade, wilting into a sickly black. 

George can destroy entire civilizations with the push of a button. He wields unfathomable power, practically holds it in the palm of his hand, yet he’s powerless to keep one man safe. 

George has always craved control. 

If Martha’s death taught him anything, it’s that people aren’t meant to be controlled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I love this chapter. It was super easy and fun to write! 
> 
> Historical fun fact: Dr. Johnathan Potts is a real dude. He was a doctor during the Revolutionary War, and in 1777, he was elected Deputy Director-General of the Hospital Department for the Continental Army!
> 
> Get ready for another god damn extended metaphor! The flowers in George's "garden" (JFC KILL MY SYMBOLIC ASS) all symbolize something in particular. Gladioluses symbolize strength and integrity; primroses symbolize eternal love (and throw back: Primrose is the flower George had engraved on Martha's headstone); and the bird of paradise flower symbolizes a lot of stuff like liberty, magnificence, excellence, joy through success/challenges, etc. 
> 
> Flower symbolism in writing is my shit y'all. 
> 
> Love the comments as always :') they keep me motivated!


	3. An Indeterminate Amount of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes another one... Two chapters in one day? (I guess technically three chapters who knows I lose track of when I'm asleep and awake). Does this bitch have a life? (Usually, but not today)

“Mr. President? Is everything alright, Sir?” 

George startles and looks up at Knox, a blank expression on his face. “I’m sorry, what?” he asks, shifting his weight. 

Knox furrows his eyebrows and nervously adjusts his tie. “I was just wondering what you think our response should be to the new intelligence out of Syria?”

George rubs his eyes and nods. “Right, uh, you know I think I need a little more time to look over it,” George says, blinking against a sudden rush of lightheadedness. 

“Sir!” Adams interjects, standing up from his seat on the couch. “I’m sorry, Sir, but we gave that to you yesterday morning. What’ve you been doing all day for the past two days?”

_Sitting with Alex at the hospital while we wait for his second surgery, having panic attacks in the shower, talking to my dead wife._

“I’m sorry; I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” George mumbles, too exhausted to even feel angry at Adams’ insubordination. 

“Like what?” Adams snaps.

“John,” Lafayette warns, fixing Adams with a sharp glare. George wearily holds his hand up. 

“Enough. We’re done here.”

“Sir,” Knox says hesitantly. “We really do need a response to that intelligence report.” 

“Well I don’t have one,” George says irritatedly. “I don’t have a fucking response to the intelligence, okay?” He holds his head in his hands and grinds his palms into his eyes. 

“Mr. President—”

“Henry, we’re done here,” George says firmly. “I have other matters to attend to.” 

Knox and Adams share a long look, but George doesn’t have enough mental space left to care. All he can think about is Alex’s surgery scheduled for tonight. 

Everyone but Lafayette files out of the door, whispering conspiratorially amongst themselves. 

“George,” Lafayette sighs as soon as the door is shut. “You can’t just stop being president because Alex is in the hospital.” 

“I know.”

“Okay, so—”

“I know!” George says frustratedly. “I know, okay? I know that I need to pull it together; I know that I need to respond to the Syrian intelligence and pick a date for my trip to the Korean demilitarized zone and talk to Ambassador Schuyler about what we want to do about the motion for harsher sanctions on Russia and meet with Secretary Ross to hammer out some more details for the education bill. _I know_.” 

Lafayette winces and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry,” he says, clearly chastised. 

“It’s fine. I need to get to the hospital. Angelica’s already there.” George stands up and grabs his phone. Lafayette frowns and puts a hand on George’s shoulder. 

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

“I can’t eat,” George says immediately. “I can’t eat; I can’t sleep.”

“George,” Lafayette sighs. “Please—”

“ _No_ ,” George snaps. “I just want to change out of this suit and go be with Alex. He’s going in for his second surgery and he might—they said he might not survive it.” George’s voice breaks and he quickly reaches up to rub away the tears in his eyes. “I need to go be with him, okay?”

Lafayette’s gaze softens and he wraps George into a hug. “Good luck. Keep me updated.”

George just nods, too choked up to say anything, and hurries to the Residence. He knows he must look like a mess—tie askew, eyes rimmed with red, snot leaking out of his nose—and he almost bursts into tears when he sees Harriet at the top of the stairs. 

“Mr. President,” she says softly. “Good luck tonight. I’m sure Alex is going to do wonderfully. He’s resilient. ” She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes it gently. George’s breath hitches and he makes an embarrassing whimpering noise. 

“Thank you Harriet,” he says thickly. 

Harriet squeezes his arm again and gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be thinking about you.”

George rubs his eyes and gives her a watery smile that he’s sure must look more like a grimace than anything else. 

Then she’s gone down the stairs and George is alone in his bedroom, traces of Alex littered all over the place. His pillow, the hair bands he leaves lying around all over the place, his pile of clothes in the chair, his toiletries in the bathroom. 

George’s limbs feel impossibly heavy as he struggles out of his suit and changes into a pair of sweat pants and a t shirt. The singular act of changing clothes takes such a monumental amount of effort that George feels wiped out after he’s finished. 

He collapses down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, his eyes glazing over. His head aches and his stomach is twisted in knots, and George closes his eyes against the anxiety rising in his chest like a tide tugged by the moon. It’s all too much, and he is struck with a sudden yearning for his mother. It’s such an odd thought that he actually laughs out loud. 

“What the hell?” he asks his empty bedroom. 

George’s mother never provided very much maternal support, but he remembers a time before Lawrence died when his mother would hold and comfort him, crooning sweet words in his ear whenever he got upset or didn’t feel well. 

George laughs again and scrubs his face. He knows that he’s fucked when he starts missing his mother. 

\---

By the time he gets to the hospital, they’re ready to wheel Alex to surgery. George begs the doctors for one minute alone with him and they reluctantly acquiesce.

George leans over and brushes Alex’s forehead with a kiss. “I love you, Alexander,” he whispers. “I love you so much. You have to pull through this, okay? For me and for Lawrence and Rachel. I can’t raise fake Ethiopian babies by myself. I mean, there’s no way I could balance Lawrence’s basketball team, Rachel’s Girl Scout troop, _and_ my PTA duties without something falling through the cracks.” George sniffs and laughs. “Please just pull through for me, sweetheart. Please. I promise I’ll stop using your deodorant and leaving globs of toothpaste in the sink, and you can have my old Virginia basketball jersey. It’ll be big on you, but you can have it if you really want it.” 

There’s a knock on the door and Angelica sticks her head in. “George?” she says softly. “They need to take him into surgery now.”

George nods and squeezes Alex’s hand. “Okay.” He takes a deep breath and smiles down at Alex. “I love you, sweetheart. Good luck. I know you can do it.”

George sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. Angelica smiles sadly as the doctors roll Alex past them. 

“I brought cards again,” Angelica says as they make their way to the private waiting room they were in last time. “And a couple of Snickers bars.” 

George smiles weakly, a sad curl of his lips that makes Angelica’s own smile falter. 

“Maybe later,” George says softly. He sits in one of the chairs and hunches over, hugging himself tightly in a sad attempt to hold himself together. 

The bird of paradise flowers are wilting faster than he can water them. He tries to move out of the way, but his shadow is all encompassing and stretches out in all directions. The delicate flowers can’t escape his destructive touch. He can’t protect them from himself. 

Angelica starts to rub his back, dragging her manicured nails over the thin cotton of his t shirt. He sighs and slumps forward even further. 

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity before Angelica moves her hand and starts to root around in her purse. George blinks and looks over to see her pulling out two Snickers bars. George’s stomach clenches at the thought of food, but Angelica looks at him and arches her eyebrow. 

“Don’t even think about not eating this,” she says as she hands it to him. 

George sighs and smiles ruefully. “You don’t take no for an answer very often, do you?” he murmurs as he sits up, wincing at the ache in his lower back. Angelica smirks and takes a bite of her own candy bar. 

“Especially not from men,” she quips. 

George coughs and chuckles. Angelica just grins wickedly and watches him while he shakily opens the Snickers. The first bite almost makes him gag, but he swallows hard and keeps going. It’s not half bad, and he does feel a little better after he finishes it; he doesn’t feel as spacey and disoriented anymore. 

“Thanks.” 

“There’s more where that came from. I’ve also got those peanut butter crackers Alex started bringing you.”

“You’re very perceptive, aren’t you?” George teases. 

“It’s one of my many talents.” Angelica smiles and squeezes his knee. “I knew I could get you to cheer up a little.”

George huffs a short laugh and shrugs. “I feel like I’ve already had about four mental breakdowns today. Maybe I’ve finally reached my quota.”

Angelica smiles sadly and squeezes his knee again. “Lets play cards and talk about something that isn’t depressing.” 

George doesn’t bother to argue with her and slides out of his chair. He stretches out on his stomach and watches her deal for war. 

“So what’s something that isn’t depressing that we can talk about?” George asks as they start to play. 

“Where’s your favorite place on Earth?” Angelica asks, looking up and raising her eyebrows when he falters and doesn’t flip his card. 

“Mt. Vernon, why?” He flips his card and loses. 

“Because we’re going to ask each other meaningless easy questions. It’s something my dad used to do when we’d get upset. It gives your mind something easy to do.”

“Okay,” George says slowly. “So where’s your favorite place on Earth?”

“My mom and dad’s house when all my sisters are there.” Angelica smiles wistfully. 

“Alright, lets see… What’s your favorite animal?” George asks. 

“Dog. You?”

George can’t help the smile that stretches across his face. “Horses.”

Angelica hums in appreciation. “You rode horses competitively as a kid, right?”

George nods and grins as he wins a large pile of cards. “I sure did. Then I quit to focus on basketball. I still ride for fun though.”

“I danced,” Angelica murmurs, smiling. “It’s what I wanted to do growing up. Then I joined Model UN in high school and changed my tune.” 

“I wanted to play for the Knicks. But, well, the army seemed like a better bet.”

“Didn’t you play basketball in college?”

“Yep. Starting point guard for Virginia. It was a lot of fun, but I figured it would be pretty hard to get into the NBA.”

“So you just decided to go into politics because getting elected president is _so_ easy, right?” Angelica teases. 

“Exactly.” George smiles and rolls onto his back after they finish their game. “What’s your favorite book?”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_. You?”

“ _The Stranger_.” 

Angelica raises her eyebrows and nods appreciatively. “I never struck you as an existentialist.”

George shrugs. “It’s an interesting concept. I think it’s empowering. You create your own meaning in life. I like that.” 

“I see why Alex fell for you so easily,” she murmurs. George rolls back over onto his stomach to look at her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You have this… air about you,” she says vaguely, waving her hand. “I don’t really know how to describe it. When you talk it’s so charming and you just sort of command attention, but it’s genuine. It’s not like you’re putting on a show, it’s just who you are. I recognized it as a political asset during the campaign. It’s the kind of quality Alex seems to appreciate.” 

George face heats up and he looks down at his hands. “Thanks,” he says gruffly. 

“And you’re modest.” Angelica tosses a pack of crackers at his head and he jokingly pouts. 

“Ouch.” 

She just rolls her eyes and points at the crackers now sitting on the floor in front of him. “Eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters. 

Angelica cleans the cards up and watches him as he halfheartedly eats the crackers. He gets halfway through the pack before he gives her a pleading look. 

“One more,” she orders. George withers under her glare and eats one more cracker, shuddering. Her face softens and she nods. “Good. Now, number one guilty pleasure?” 

George rolls his eyes. “C’mon, what kind of question is that?”

“Mine’s the movie The Notebook,” she says matter-of-factly. “Now, you better tell me yours.”

George sighs. “I’ve been known to enjoy the occasional episode of Gossip Girl,” he mutters. 

Angelica immediately starts laughing. “Oh God, yours is so much worse than mine. What the fuck, George?”

“Hey! I thought this was a judgement free zone?”

“I said no such thing,” Angelica laughs, shaking her head. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

George narrows his eyes and huffs. “Alright, celebrity crush?” 

“Russell Wilson.”

“The quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks?” George asks, laughing. 

“Duh. And before you ask, yes, I do watch football.” Angelica smirks and stretches her arms over her head. “What about you?”

“George Clooney.”

Angelica laughs. “So you’re into the whole silver fox thing?” 

George blushes and he laughs awkwardly. “We’re so not talking about this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked the question!” 

George rolls his eyes and drops his head down to rest on his folded arms. He yawns and blinks slowly, his eyes growing heavy. “I hate waiting. And I fucking hate this carpet.”

“It’s pretty atrocious,” Angelica agrees. “They could’ve at least _tried_ to make it a little less ugly.” She stands and sits back down in her chair. “And these chairs suck.”

“They _suck_ ,” George echoes. 

\---

A few doctors come out at one point to give them an update: Unexpected hemorrhage, went into v-fib, severe blood loss. 

George can’t even make it to the bathroom before he’s choking on vomit, and he has to lean over the trashcan by the door where he can feel Angelica’s presence heavy and pitying behind him. 

He takes a Xanax and prays that he can keep it down. 

Angelica doesn’t talk much after that, and George doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved.

At some point, Lafayette calls and ask George about what’s going on, but he can only provide numb, vague answers, so he hands the phone to Angelica and tries not to think about the garden rapidly withering in his heart. 

Angelica tries to get him to eat again, offers to get him some plain crackers or a banana, and George has to tearfully plead with her not to make him eat anything. 

“I don’t want to throw up again,” he says pathetically, practically sniveling like an upset child. 

She looks at him for a long time, and he watches her try to cover up the pity obvious in her eyes. He holds her stare; he knows his lip is trembling and he can taste his snot salty and thick as it oozes out of his nose. 

He hasn’t felt this helpless since Martha died. Another painful jab of déjà-vu for him to contend with. 

After an indeterminate amount of time—time as defined by the outside world doesn’t seem to exist inside waiting rooms; waiting rooms have their own sense of time—Angelica starts to talk again, apparently overwhelmed by the suffocating silence in the room. 

She talks to him about everything: Her youngest sister’s girlfriend, the guy she’s dating—“he’s cute but a little boring,” her dad’s new car, some gossip she heard in the lunch line the other day. 

She talks and talks, and she doesn’t seem to expect George to contribute. She just goes on and lets George lie there on the floor, half-listening to what she’s saying. 

George is half asleep when Dr. Potts walks up. As soon as George sees his ugly tennis shoes and the bottoms of his scrubs, he sits up so fast that he gets lightheaded. 

“He survived the surgery, but we’re not quite out of the woods just yet. His body has been through a major trauma. We don’t know when he’s going to wake up, and he’s not breathing on his own yet. We just have to wait and see.”

George embarrassingly starts to cry, practically bursting into tears. Dr. Potts awkwardly looks away and Angelica hugs him so tightly he’s afraid she’s going to bruise him. 

The walk to Alex’s room takes both forever and no time at all. Angelica briefly goes in and sees him. Then she quietly informs George that she’s going home, that she’ll see him tomorrow at work. They hug again, and George hopes she realizes how much she means to him.

When the door is firmly shut and he’s alone with Alex, he starts to cry all over again—big, gulping sobs that are shockingly loud in the enclosed space. Once he finally calms down enough to take a few deep breaths, he holds Alex’s hand and kisses it, relishing in the weight of Alex’s hand in his own. 

“Oh Alex,” he breathes. “I thought you were… I was so fucking scared that you were going to leave me.” George shudders and kisses Alex’s cheek and forehead and eyes, anywhere on his face that isn’t obscured by tubes and wires. His skin is salty with sweat and smells like antiseptic, but it’s still _Alex_. 

Now he just needs to wake up. 

_What if he never wakes up?_

George shivers and tries to force the thought out of his head, but the hard truth is right in front of him. The breathing machine is still whooshing away, breathing for Alex because he can’t do it himself. 

_He might be stuck like this for the rest of his life_. 

George swallows back a splash of bile that hits the back of his throat and squeezes Alex’s hand as tightly as he can. 

The bird of paradise flowers are still wilting, drooping in the darkness of his lofty shadow. 

Flowers, like humans, aren’t meant to be controlled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna be super busy tomorrow and honestly for the rest of the week, but I had jack shit to do today so I just sat around and wrote!
> 
> Can't promise updates will be that quick after this. We'll see!
> 
> This one probs isn't as good as the last chap. but that's ok. it is what it is
> 
> Also, I love Angelica. Can we all agree that she's the dopest?
> 
> As always, I love y'all's comments :-)


	4. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super hard to write, and I'm feeling too lazy to go back and double check my editing, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I'll fix them tomorrow!

“Let me tell you, the Republicans are trying to put pressure on the Democrats with this spending bill and it’s just ridiculous. They want to negotiate with us, and their demand is that we cut Medicaid by billions of dollars. Do they seriously think Democrats in Congress are going to agree to that? Do they seriously think _I’m_ going to agree to that?” George laughs and sets down the speech he was editing. “By the way, sorry I couldn’t come during the day. I can’t exactly sneak off in the middle of the day, but I got out of there as soon as I could.” 

George smiles at Alex and reaches forward to squeeze his hand. “You’d like this speech Hercules wrote for me. It’s for an event honoring black men killed by policemen. I’m planning on making some pretty bold statements. You’d be really proud, or I think you would be. Knowing you, you’d probably think I wasn’t being bold enough.” 

He watches Alex’s still body, tries to imagine him sitting up and grinning, surprising George. 

_“I’m awake now! I sure surprised you, huh? You should’ve seen your face.”_

But he just stays there, somewhere suspended between life and death. If George squints and blocks out the sound of all the machines, it’s almost like Alex is just napping. 

It’s been one of the longest weeks of George’s life. Every night, Tallmadge and Tilghman help him discreetly leave the White House and come to the hospital so he can visit with Alex for a few hours. 

George sighs and toes his shoes off before very carefully climbing onto the bed. He does his best to smush himself onto the bed without jostling Alex. It’s uncomfortable, but George needs to be close to him; he needs to feel Alex’s skin against his own. He lays his head down on Alex’s chest and listens to his heartbeat strong and steady in his ear. 

_Alex is alive._

He has to keep reminding himself that Alex is alive. He can’t lose hope. He can’t start mourning him yet. 

George holds Alex’s hand and rubs his thumb over his smooth knuckles. “Listen sweetheart,” George whispers in Alex’s ear. “You really can’t die on me, okay? I’m serious. If you die, who’s going to eat all that rocky road ice cream they’ve got in the freezer?” George kisses Alex’s ear and nuzzles his neck, mindful of the wires and tubes. “But seriously, I really need you to wake up, Alex.” George sniffs and heaves a sighing breath. “I don’t think I can do… this—do anything—without you by my side.”

The Alex in George’s head laughs and pokes George’s side, teasing him for being so melodramatic. 

_“George Washington, stop being so stupid and dramatic. You don’t need me as much as you think you do. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”_

“You’re my entire world, Alexander. I promise you that I can’t live without you.”

_“Fine, be all mopey and morbid then. All this negativity is going to give you frown lines, you know?”_

George huffs a laugh and wipes the tears out of his eyes. “I love you Alex. I have to go back to the White House now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

\---

It’s almost two in the morning by the time they get back to the White House, but George is wide awake, feeling uncomfortably jittery. He grabs onto Tallmadge’s arm and tugs him to a stop on their way inside. 

“Tallmadge, will you come play basketball with me?” George asks softly. Tallmadge frowns and shifts his weight.

“It’s late, Sir. You should rest. And it’s cold. And dark.”

“I can’t sleep; I have a sweatshirt on; and the court has lights. Plus, won’t basketball be more fun than standing around in the Residence?” 

George gives Tallmadge a pleading look, poking out his lip a little for dramatic effect. Tallmadge sighs and his lips curl into a small smile. 

“Alright fine, but I get the first shot.” 

“Fair enough.” 

They walk slowly to the basketball court, not saying much. By force of habit, Tallmadge falls into step behind George, and George has to remind him that they can walk side by side. 

When they get to the court, Tallmadge sheds his coat and suit jacket, and George passes him the ball. 

“You ready to lose?” Tallmadge teases before he shoots a perfect jump shot, the ball swishing through the net. George lets out a low whistle and jogs to get the ball. 

“Alright, not bad,” George says appreciatively.

“Yeah, yeah. Lets see you match it.” Tallmadge grins and nods at George. 

George perfectly mirrors the shot and smirks. “Starting point guard for Virginia.”

Tallmadge grabs the ball and shoots a layup. “Starting point guard for Tulane.” 

George’s mouth falls open and he laughs. “Well shit. This is what I get for bragging. I had no idea you played basketball in college.” 

Tallmadge shrugs. “I’m full of surprises, Mr. President.” 

George just rolls his eyes and takes another shot. 

After an hour of trading shots back and forth, they both plop down on the ground and lay on their backs. George has long since shed his sweatshirt and he balls it up behind his head to use as a pillow. Tallmadge laughs and looks over at George. “You know, Sir, you’re a hell of a lot more fun to protect than Hanson was.”

“You were on his personal detail?” 

Tallmadge nods and smiles ruefully. “Not to tarnish the 44th president’s name, but he was a son of a bitch.” 

George laughs. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone likes him.”

“Yeah, you sure are a nice change of pace, Sir.”

George quirks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re young, handsome, energetic…”

“And bi?” George smirks. 

Tallmadge smiles sheepishly and nods. “Yeah.”

As thoughts of Alex flash through his mind, George sobers up and sighs. “Do you think he’s going to make it?”

“Alex?”

George nods, nervously chewing on his lip. Tallmadge turns his head and stares up at the sky, thoughtfully rubbing the stubble on his chin. 

“I think so. He’s young, strong, resilient. I’m keeping the faith.” 

George smiles weakly and studies the sky, trying to find the big dipper. “Thank you, Tallmadge. I don’t tell you that enough,” George murmurs. 

Tallmadge clears his throat. “You’re welcome, Sir.”

They fall silent and George feels the familiar, creeping depression crawling up his legs so it can sink its teeth into his heart. He’s hit with a wave of exhaustion and sighs. 

“I should get back to the Residence.” George sits up and pulls his sweatshirt back on. Tallmadge hesitantly reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. 

“He’s going to be fine, Sir,” he says firmly. “I know it.” 

“Thank you Tallmadge. And I’m serious, thanks for coming out here with me. It helps keep my mind off, well, everything,” George chuckles. 

They walk back to the White House side-by-side in companionable silence. George occasionally glances over at Tallmadge’s handsome profile, the ever-present focused, hawkish glare on his face. 

George thanks Tallmadge one more time before going into his bedroom and curling up on the bed. He passes out asleep fully clothed, shoes and all. 

\---

“Mr. President?” 

George groans and rolls over to press his face into the pillow. “Leave me alone,” he slurs. “Sleeping.”

“No, Sir. It’s Alex.” 

George’s blood runs cold and he jerks himself up. “What’s wrong?” he asks breathlessly, still half asleep. He blinks as Lafayette’s face swims in front of him. 

“He’s awake. He woke up a couple of hours ago.” Lafayette grins and George’s mouth falls open, the breath catching in his throat. 

“He’s, wait— _what_?” George rubs his eyes and shakes his head. 

“He’s awake you stupid idiot,” Lafayette teases, reaching out to tap George’s cheek. “Hurry up. He’s asking for you.”

George laughs and nods, furiously blinking back tears. “Okay let me get dressed. What time is it?” 

George climbs out of bed and decides to forgo a shower even though he fell asleep sweaty from basketball. He grimaces when he realizes he still has his shoes on. 

“It’s a little after eight,” Lafayette says as he sits on the bed and looks down at his phone. 

“Damn, okay.” George rips his clothes off and goes into his closet, haphazardly grabbing a suit and tie at random. He hops on one foot and tugs his suit pants on. “Can you grab my deodorant?” 

Lafayette rolls his eyes and ducks into the bathroom. He tosses George his deodorant and George clumsily catches it and quickly rubs it on before tossing it back. “Thanks.” 

Several frantic minutes later George is finished getting ready and Lafayette and him rush down the stairs. Angelica is already waiting for them in the car outside, her eyes shining. 

“I can’t believe he’s finally awake,” she says, rubbing her eyes. 

Lafayette quirks an eyebrow and smirks. “I see you’ve grown a bit of an attachment to our Dear Hamilton, Ms. Schuyler,” he quips. She glares at him and rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just happy for George.” 

Lafayette raises his eyebrows and mouths ‘George?’ George rolls his eyes and gives Lafayette a pointed look. 

The ride to the hospital is weirdly tense, all of them on edge and excited to see Alex. George pulls his chain out from under his shirt and fiddles with the rings, rubbing them in between his fingers. 

_Alex is awake._

The bird of paradise flowers start to perk up and their vibrant colors brighten. Maybe his shadow isn’t so destructive after all. 

They must make quite the sight as all three of them burst into the hospital, Secret Service agents hot on their heels. Dr. Potts greets them with a big smile on his usual taciturn, stoic face. 

“Mr. Hamilton has been asking for you, Mr. President,” he says. 

George nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “So I’ve heard,” he says thickly. 

When they get to Alex’s door, George is suddenly hit with a flash of heat. Icy anxiety swells in his chest and he has to pause to take a steadying breath. Angelica puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“You okay?” she asks softly. George turns to look at her and nods, drawing strength from her kind eyes. 

“Yeah. Do you guys mind if I have a moment alone?” he asks softly. Her and Lafayette both shake their heads quickly. 

“Not at all,” Lafayette says. “Go see your boy.” 

George chuckles and takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. When he sees Alex sitting in bed staring stubbornly at a cup of jello, he makes a strangled, choking sound and starts to cry. Alex jerks his head up and his face goes through a rapid progression of relief to joy to concern.

“George?” he asks roughly. “Are you okay?” 

George hiccups and drops down in the chair by Alex’s bed. They frantically and clumsily grope around for each others hands, both laughing a little breathlessly once they finally manage to lace their fingers together.

“Yes, yes. I’m alright. I’m just… God I missed you so much,” George says. “I missed you so fucking much. I thought I’d lost you.” 

Alex smiles and squeezes George’s hand. “C’mon, you really think you can get rid of me that easily? Nah, I’m here for the long-haul, baby.”

George can’t help the sob that tears itself from his throat. He drops his head down to rest on the bed and sucks in a ragged breath. “I love you so much, Alexander. I love you _so much_.”

“Alexander?” Alex asks amusedly. “Since when do you call me Alexander?”

“Since you almost died,” George says as he presses his lips to Alex’s hand. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Alex says thickly.

George looks up quickly to see tears running down Alex’s cheeks. He reaches out and thumbs them away. “Oh sweetheart, don’t cry,” he whispers. “Please don’t cry.” 

“Shut up; you’re also crying.” 

George laughs and nods. “You’ve got me there.” 

“Will you hold me?” Alex sniffs. 

“Always.” 

George carefully lays down on the bed and curls his body around Alex’s. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, you’re good. I’m so hopped up on pain killers that I honestly wouldn’t even know if you were.”

George strokes Alex’s hair and sighs. “Do you feel sick or anything? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Shh,” Alex shushes him gently. “I just need you to hold me.” 

George nods. “I’ve got your ring,” he says softly. “I’ll give it back to you before I leave. I wanted to keep it safe for you.”

Alex nods and sniffs. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” George says a little guiltily, remembering how Alex was there for him when he was hurt. 

Alex shushes him again and fondly scratches his head. “It’s okay baby. You’re president; you can’t sit around a hospital all day. I’m not upset.” 

George nuzzles Alex’s neck and makes a soft humming noise before falling quiet. They lay there together in silence, and there are so many thoughts in George head, so many things he needs to say, that he feels a little dizzy. He fidgets anxiously and Alex turns to kiss his jaw. “You seem anxious, love. What’s wrong?”

“Lets get a dog,” George blurts out, choking on a sob. “I really want to get a dog together. I was planning on asking you when I got home from England but then you got hurt and—”

Alex’s body shakes with laughter as he cuts George off. “George, honey, calm down. Of course I’ll get a dog with you. I already told you that I’d adopt fake Ethiopian babies with you. What makes you think I’d be opposed to getting a dog?”

“I don’t know,” George chuckles, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, for some reason that made me nervous.” He rubs his eyes and runs his fingers up and down Alex’s arm. “While you’re making decisions, I also need you to pick somewhere to go on vacation. I’m taking you on vacation as soon as you’re healed.” 

“Damn, I should almost die more often,” Alex teases. “I had no idea almost dying would get me so much great stuff.” 

“Shut up,” George laughs. 

Alex lays his head on George’s chest and sighs happily. “I know that as soon as these pain killers wear off, I’m gonna feel like shit, but this is pretty nice.”

“Being cramped together on this tiny bed isn’t what I would call nice, but I’m glad you’re happy sweetheart.” 

“I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

George’s face heats up and he kisses the top of Alex’s head. “You better start thinking about what kind of dog you want. And where you want to go for vacation.”

“Okay, well, are we talking a big or small dog?” 

“I prefer big dogs,” George says as he presses a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. 

“I’ve always thought Weimaraners were pretty. And they’re kinda fancy. Don’t presidents usually have fancy dogs?”

George smiles and nods. “Weimaraners are beautiful dogs. I’ve heard they’re really friendly.”

“And lord knows you need a good, sweet dog,” Alex jokes, poking George’s side. “You can cuddle with him instead of whining for me to come to bed all the time.”

George rolls his eyes good naturedly. “And what about vacations? We can go anywhere you want. Anywhere in the entire world.” 

Alex’s grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hmm, lets go on a deep sea fishing trip in the Pacific,” Alex says slowly. “Wouldn’t that be fun? A week or two out on a boat in the middle of the ocean?”

George winces and tries to cover it up. “Yeah? If that’s what you want to do, then we’ll do it,” he says as cheerfully as he can. 

George fucking _hates_ boats. 

Alex immediately shakes his head and starts to laugh. “God, I’ve got you so whipped. I know you get sea sick, goofball. It’s sweet that you would spend a week puking just so I could have fun, though.”

George rolls his eyes and kisses Alex’s head. “You suck.”

“I know, and I’m damn good at it too.”

“One thing I haven’t missed is your vulgar sex jokes,” George jokingly mutters. 

“You’re just bitter because you know I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.”

“Maybe a little.” George squeezes Alex in a gentle hug and sighs happily. 

“Sorry again for almost dying,” Alex whispers. “It really wasn’t part of my evening plans. I was just trying to get some more soup.” 

“I hope you know that I’m never leaving you home alone ever again,” George says seriously.

Alex gently elbows George’s side. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” George murmurs. Alex smiles and George can tell that he’s starting to get tired. 

“Mmm, whatever,” Alex says sleepily, his eyelids fluttering. George smiles and gently caresses Alex’s cheek. 

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Don’t you have a job to do?” Alex slurs tiredly, his eyes drooping closed. 

“America can wait.” 

Alex falls asleep and the bird of paradise flowers start to bloom again.

Humans and flowers aren’t meant to be controlled. 

However, if they’re strong enough, they’ll always survive. Flowers can survive Mother Nature’s wrath. Humans can survive the tug of Fate’s strings. 

Alex is warm and alive beside him. And, as the sun comes up, the bird of paradise flowers shine vibrantly in the light of his receding shadow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly HATE this chapter. I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone, but I high key all of a sudden wasn't feeling this fic for some reason?? But I need to finish it before I won't be able to write for like a solid 10 days when I'm on vacation next week... so I'm very sorry if y'all are all super disappointed :-( (this is kind of a dialogue heavy chapter and I feel like I always hate my dialogue heavy chapters even though I'm not bad at writing dialogue?? IDK SORRY)
> 
> This will most likely have another chapter though (A DOG has to be chosen!!)
> 
> Then I've got a couple of dope ideas for fics that I can't wait to write lmao (gonna be some angst up the wazoo) 
> 
> ALSO, I just started the Chernow biography of my boy GWash and it's great. 10/10 would recommend to anyone at all interested in learning more abt him!


	5. Argos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of short but very cute!

“George, I don’t think a vacation is the best idea,” Lafayette says before shoving a bite of chicken into his mouth. “You know that you and Alex can't just run away to some island. Over 200 people go with the president on vacation. Maybe, if you want to get away, we could go to Mt. Vernon. It’s easier to control things there… but a vacation out of the country just doesn’t seem feasible.”

George sighs and stabs the remaining half of his sandwich with a toothpick. “I can’t do anything, can I say?” he asks ruefully. 

Lafayette sighs and takes a sip of water. “Look, you know being president means you don’t get very much privacy. You can just wait and take a vacation after your presidency.” 

George laughs and shakes his head. “Right, I’ll just wait seven years. That’s no big deal,” he says sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry, George.” Lafayette finishes his meal and glares at George’s half-eaten sandwich. “Eat your sandwich.”

“Alex brought me a cupcake earlier and spoiled my appetite.” 

Lafayette smiles and stretches his arms over his head. “I’m glad he’s finally feeling better.”

“Me too. Alex on bedrest?” George shakes his head. “Not fun.” 

“Well, have you picked a dog yet?” 

George shakes his head. “Alex wanted to wait until he was better so he could meet them with me, and we’re both indecisive as hell.” 

As if he knows that he’s being discussed, Alex pops his head in the door and grins. “Ah, two of my favorite people,” he teases before plopping down and motioning to George’s plate. “Can I have the rest of your sandwich?”

“Of course.” George slides his plate over to Alex and smiles. “How’re you feeling today?”

Alex rolls his eyes and starts to devour George’s sandwich. “I feel fine—aka the same as when you asked me an hour ago.” Alex grins and shakes his head. “Also, the fact that you don’t like tomatoes really detracts from this sandwich. Sandwiches need tomatoes.”

“Alright, I’m leaving. Have fun flirting,” Lafayette mutters. He leaves after throwing them both a withering glare. 

“He’s no fun,” Alex says around a mouthful of sandwich. “And you look really cute today.”

George quirks an eyebrow and tugs on the lapels of his jacket. “Alex, I’m in the same thing I wear almost every day. A black suit with a tie.”

Alex shrugs and finishes the sandwich. “I don’t know, you seem happy. It looks good on you.”

George ducks his head and smiles when Alex walks behind him and rubs George’s chest. “How do you feel about beagles?” he asks.

George makes a humming noise and motions for Alex to come sit in his lap. He happily obliges and George nuzzles his neck. “I’ve heard beagles are stubborn,” George murmurs. “I don’t know if I want a stubborn dog.”

“Alright, that’s fair. What about Australian shepherds? They’re really pretty.”

“They are, but they also shed all over the place.” 

Alex squeezes George’s neck and playfully growls in frustration. “I have a feeling that you’re going to have an issue with literally every dog ever.”

George laughs and nods. “You’re not wrong.” He kisses Alex’s shoulder and rubs his thumb over Alex’s ring. “What kind of dog do you want?” 

“I still like Weimaraners, Foxhounds, and Coonhounds.”

“You’re very found of hounds,” George muses, squeezing Alex in a gentle hug. “I assumed you would be more of a Labradoodle kind of person.”

“Yeah, but you’re a hound person, and this is our dog, not mine. You need a good hound to run around with you at Mt. Vernon, and I need a nice big dog to cuddle with. A hound fits those pretty well.” 

“Have I mentioned today that I love you more than anything?”

“About a hundred times,” Alex chuckles and kisses George’s cheek. “I’ve gotta get back to work, and I’m assuming that you do too. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course. We’re having dinner in the Residence. No working late.”

Alex slides off of George’s lap and rolls his eyes. “Yes mom.”

George narrows his eyes and pats Alex’s ass after standing up. “Think about the kind of dog you want. If I get to pick the type, then you get to pick the specific breed, okay?”

Alex grins. “And I get first pick on the name because I’m creative and fun.”

“And I’m not?” George asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“You would give it some boring name like Champ or Rover.”

“I would not,” George mutters. 

Alex kisses George’s cheek and flashes him a Cheshire grin. “Whatever you say, baby.”

\---

It takes a week for Alex to decide, but he finally chooses a Foxhound. They immediately get in contact with a breeder and set up a time for him to bring in some dogs for them to choose between. 

“Oh my God they’re so cute,” Alex practically squeals as they walk into the East Room where the line of dogs are waiting for them. “I’m in heaven.”

George laughs and trails after Alex, watching him hurry over to the dogs and immediately start excitedly talking to them.

“Mr. President,” the breeder says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.” George shakes the man’s hand and squats down to scratch one of the dogs behind the ears, laughing when he licks George’s hand. “So, what’re we looking at?”

“This is a litter of purebred Foxhounds. The ones with blue collars are male and the ones with pink collars are female. If you look, there’s a little card with some information about each one sitting in front of them. They’re all potty trained already.” 

George nods and looks over at Alex, who’s currently cooing at one of the dogs and rubbing his belly. “See one you like?” George asks. Alex looks up and grins. 

“C’mere, this little guy is so sweet. I think I’m in love.” 

“Sounds like your senior advisor might try to steal your dog, Mr. President,” the breeder quips. George laughs and nods. 

“I didn’t think I would be able to decide on my own, so I’ve dispatched Alex’s help.” George crawls over to Alex and the dog he has scooped up in his arms. 

“George, holy shit, hold this dog,” Alex enthusiastically whispers before depositing the dog in George’s arms. The puppy immediately starts to wiggle around, his tail wagging excitedly. George laughs and leans down so the dog can lick his face. 

“He’s definitely a sweet boy,” George says as he kisses the dog’s head. The dog makes a soft yapping noise and George laughs. “Yeah, I’m talking about you. Are you a sweet boy? It looks like you’re a sweet boy,” George croons before nuzzling the dog’s soft fur. 

“Lets get him. Please can we get this one?” Alex reaches over to scratch the dog’s soft belly. 

“We haven’t even looked at the other ones,” George points out, glancing at the other dogs. “Are you sure you don’t want to spend time with the others?”

Alex fervently shakes his head. “No, this one’s perfect. I can feel that he’s the one.” 

George nods and squeezes the dog in a gentle hug. “Alright; I trust your judgement,” George teases. He hands the dog back to Alex and turns to the breeder. “I think this guy’s the one.”

\---

George, Alex, Lafayette, and Angelica are all currently stretched out on their backs in the Rose Garden, idly watching the clouds swim through the sky. Dog is curled up on George’s stomach, and George absently scratches his head gently. 

“Have you thought of a name?” Angelica asks, turning her head to look at George. 

“Nope. That’s Alex’s job.”

“I’ve narrowed it down,” Alex says as he holds up a piece of paper, squinting at it. “Laf over here is a big help.”

George rolls his eyes. “Alex will never settle on a name, and we’ll end up calling him Dog for the rest of his life,” he stage-whispers to Angelica so Alex and Lafayette can still hear it. Alex glares at George and rolls his eyes. 

“I swear, I’ve narrowed it down.”

“Alright, then what’ve you got?” George asks amusedly. 

“I have four possible names—”

“Five,” Lafayette interjects. “Gilbert is a top contender.”

“Shut up, Laf, we’re not naming our dog after you,” Alex mutters.

Lafayette turns to look at Angelica and shakes his head. “Do you see how rude they are to me?”

She just rolls her eyes and looks over at Alex. “So what’re your ideas then?”

“Argos, Quixote, Perro, or Rawls—”

“ _And_ Gilbert,” Lafayette interjects. “Honestly, that’s the least weird out of all of those. Only you would want to name a dog after a political philosopher. I mean, Rawls? Really?”

“John Rawls’ work on egalitarianism is amazing. Shut up.”

“And Quixote? _Really_?” Lafayette asks, rolling his eyes. 

“Don Quixote is badass. Stop being so critical.” 

George is half-listening to their back-and-forth, mostly tuning it out and watching Dog sleepily blink awake. He looks at George and leans forward to lick George’s chin. 

“—George?” 

George looks up to find everyone looking at him and he smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry?”

“What do you want to name Dog?” Alex asks. “Gilbert doesn’t like my names.”

George smiles as Dog licks his chin again. “Hmm maybe we should call him Sweet Lips since he likes to give so many sweet puppy kisses,” George coos before kissing Dog’s nose. 

“Stop being so cute,” Alex mutters as he crawls over to lay down next to George. 

“Me or him?” 

“Both,” Alex says, reaching down to squeeze George’s hand. 

“Stop being gross,” Lafayette whines. 

“Leave George and Alex alone, Laf,” Angelica chides as she stands and brushes down her slacks. “Laf and I are leaving so you three can have some family time.” 

George laughs and turns his head to face Alex’s. “Hi.” 

Alex smiles and laces their fingers. “Hi.”

“I liked Argos, by the way. Out of the names you gave. That’s Odysseus’ dog from the Odyssey, right?”

“Yeah; I thought you might like that one.” 

“So Argos it is?” George rubs Alex’s ring with his thumb. Alex nods and sighs happily. 

“I love you, George.” 

“I love you too.” 

“And I love you,” Alex coos as he drops George’s hand and pets Argos. “It looks like he likes laying on his daddy. I hope he hasn’t already picked a favorite.”

“I am not this dog’s daddy,” George says firmly, giving Alex a pointed look. 

“No, you totally are. I’m his papa and you’re his daddy. Isn’t that right, Argos?” Alex grins wickedly and sits up so he can pick Argos up. “I know daddy’s nice to lay on, but it’s papa’s turn now.”

“Alex,” George groans. 

“Shh,” Alex hisses. “Argos doesn’t want to hear your negativity.” George rolls his eyes but Alex just sticks his tongue out. “Don’t pay attention to daddy, Argos. He’s just grumpy.”

“Why do I feel like I’m going to regret this?” George deadpans.

“Hey, this is training for our fake Ethiopian babies! What did you think Lawrence and Rachel were going to call you?”

_“Dad,”_ George says exasperatedly. 

“Whatever you say, honey,” Alex says. “Whatever you say.” 

George laughs and sits up next to Alex. “I’m sorry we can’t go on a nice vacation,” he says softly. “I really wanted to take you away. I mean, we could still go somewhere, but it would be quite the ordeal with all the staffers there and stuff.”

“That’s alright, because that just means you owe me an _amazing_ vacation after you finish your second term, before you accept your nomination to the Supreme Court.”

George coughs and shakes his head. “My _what_?”

Alex rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not planning on having some badass post-presidency, George Washington. You’re so going to do something cool like sit on the Supreme Court or start a big organization. I know you.”

“I honestly haven’t really thought about it much. I’ve still got a long time to go.” 

“That’s what they all say Mr. Justice.” 

“You’re the worst, and your son wants down,” George points out as Argos starts to squirm around. 

“Probably has to take a piss,” Alex says before carefully setting Argos down in the grass. Argos trots over to smell the bushes and Alex grins. “Be safe, son!” he jokingly calls out. 

George flops back down in the grass and smiles, basking in the glow of the winter sun. Alex is warm and alive beside him, the soft light illuminating his raven hair and olive skin, and George lets it wash over him—just how _right_ everything feels.

His bird of paradise flowers are finally in full bloom again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read this, left kudos, and commented. Y'all are the best!!
> 
> Sorry if this fic went a bit downhill toward the end. I hope everyone still liked the doggo. I have no idea how presidents select/are given their pets so I'm sorry if this was horribly inaccurate. 
> 
> Historical fun fact: GWash was OBSESSED w/ puppers. He's actually credited for creating the Foxhound breed, and one of the Foxhounds actually was named Sweet Lips. He also had Foxhounds named Tipsy, Tipler, Drunkard, and Vulcan, among many other different puppers of varying breeds (ex. he had a Dalmatian named Madame Moose). What a guy :')
> 
> PSA: the next fic, when I find time to write it, is going to be angsty af... buckle up, folks.


End file.
